


Always Knew [That You'd Be The One]

by non_tiembo_mala



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Bottom Sam, Brothers, First Time, Frottage, M/M, PWP, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Soulmates, Top Dean, Weecest, Wincest - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-12
Updated: 2016-03-12
Packaged: 2018-05-26 02:51:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,279
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6220669
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/non_tiembo_mala/pseuds/non_tiembo_mala
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sam is having his first sleepover at a friend's and Dean knows better, knows it shouldn't bother him but it does. Alone in the motel, his mind is a messy place. Sam surprises him by coming home in the middle of the night and even more when they manage to sort themselves out. </p><p>Dean is 17, Sam is 14.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Always Knew [That You'd Be The One]

**Author's Note:**

> [Chinese translation](http://aofanyi.lofter.com/post/1dcceed7_b2f4a6e) by [HailTheTranslationParty](http://archiveofourown.org/users/HailTheTranslationParty/pseuds/HailTheTranslationParty)
> 
> Prompt for this wee fic was "popcorn, porn, and beer."
> 
> Always love and thanks to the amazing [@Dancing_Adrift](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Dancing_Adrift) for the prompt and beta, and love of course to the third in our little trio [@gluedwithgold](http://archiveofourown.org/users/gluedwithgold) who also wrote for this prompt. 
> 
> Title from Imagine Dragon's Warriors.

Dean is sulking. There are no two ways about it. He isn’t going to admit it, but that’s what it is. 

It’s 12:07am on a Friday night and Dean figures he’s the only almost eighteen-year-old in a hundred-mile radius and maybe then some who’s sitting alone, twiddling his thumbs in such a fine, run-down, one-star establishment, three empties on the side table next to a crumpled up bag of microwave popcorn. Sure, he could go out. There’s nothing really stopping him. In fact, most nights, doesn’t matter what day of the week it is - Dean is out there, hustling pool or finding some pretty little thing to help him pass the time, help him stop thinking. 

But tonight is different. Most nights, when Dean is out there looking for quick money and easy pleasure, his kid brother is the one tucked in this side of the salt line, a book in his lap or a movie on the tv, a bag of popcorn that Dean does up for him before he takes off (not ‘cause he can’t do it himself, because of course he can, but Dean’s always done it and old habits die hard, especially where Sam is concerned). Dean’s not going to put a name to the ugly feeling tugging at his stomach, but the word ‘guilt’ hovers unpleasantly nearby like a haunting spirit and it’s followed by something else, a little bit like loathing maybe. He tries not to give it a second thought, the way he leaves the kid on his own so much, giving them space even though he hates to do it. Sam never says anything, hasn’t said a lot in a while if he’s not fighting with Dad. He always looks- well, Dean doesn’t like to think about it much, ‘cause it ain’t happy - hasn’t seemed happy a lot lately - and that hurts but Dean doesn’t know what to do to make him smile anymore, not like he used to. Even so, Sam always waits up, or at least he tries; Dean can tell the way he’s always awkwardly sprawled with the TV still on too loud or a book half covering his face. For whatever reason tonight, sitting alone in the motel room unable to force himself out and stuck thinking about Sam - _always Sam can’t stop can’t turn it off_ \- Dean thinks he _gets_ it.

When Dean picked him up outside his school and Sam came running up to him, bright-eyed and breathless and beautiful - _shut up dammit_ \- asking “please, Dean, _please_? My first sleepover?” he didn’t think twice about saying yes, ruffling his hand through Sammy’s hair and pulling him in under his arm, steering him towards the Impala. 

But now Sam’s been gone for hours and Dean’s got a buzz going on, taking long, deep pulls from his beer and trying not to think too hard on how much more messed up he is than he ever let himself realize, how messed up Sam might be and how much of that is his fault. He hates that he can’t make himself leave the motel and he refuses to psychoanalyze the jumbled up mess of everything _ugly wrong right perfect_ mixed in with the guilt. He hates that the soft, boney body that’s warm and pliant and always waiting to curl into him under the guise of sleep when he gets in is gone and it makes him feel hollow and hot, unsettled. He hates that when he flips through the pay-per-view his heart races for all the wrong things, things that strike a chord he does his best to ignore, a sinful kind of familiar. He hates that he knows Sam is having a blast, being a kid the way Dean never got to, the way Dean _wants_ him to be, really, but that all he wants to do is find an excuse to knock on the door of that stupid, suburban house and collect the most precious thing in his life and keep it close, keep Sam close - _too close fuck_ \- and he’s trying, God help him he is, _not_ to let his mind wander - more like plummet - off this cliff but he’s here now, falling, flailing, drowning, and _Jesus Christ_ he needs something stronger than beer.

Dean closes his eyes and presses his thumb and finger in hard trying to block out all the things coming to mind, making his skin tight and his dick half hard in his boxers, groans because it doesn’t help at all - _Sam Sammy all I ever see is Sam stop don’t stop shit_ \- and he slides unsteadily, barefoot, off the bed, moving to steal the half full bottle of Jack that he knows his Dad leaves in their weapons duffle. 

He’s standing in the middle of the dimly lamp-lit room in nothing but his underwear and an old Zeppelin t-shirt with his lips around the mouth of the bottle and the burn of the liquid blooming at the back of his throat when there’s a _snick-click_ of keys in the door. Dean almost spits as he wheels around, his free hand instinctively reaching for the small of his back even though he sure as hell doesn’t have his gun tucked in his boxers and the door tentatively opens. 

Sam is slipping inside quietly, eyes down and hidden behind the mop of his hair where it falls messily across his face. When he closes the door behind him and softly drops his backpack next to his feet, one holey-Converse covered foot shifting bashfully on the linoleum floor, moving the salt back into place, Dean is finally done spluttering around his interrupted mouthful of whiskey.

“Sammy? What’re you doin’ here?” As his surprised thoughts pick up in speed and edge into ones of worry, Dean slams the bottle down on the kitchen table and instinctively takes the few steps forward to close the distance between them. His hands go to Sam’s shoulders - _safe safe it’s safe here_ \- but as he opens his mouth to keep speaking they betray him, sliding up the soft, tempting curve of Sam’s neck and his thumb is passing along the edge of his jaw as he tilts his little brother’s face up to look at him. Sam is loose under his hands, Dean feels it like an invitation he’s sure Sam hasn’t meant to send, and Dean is painfully aware that he’s still just in his underwear, they’re close together - _so close closer please never close enough_ \- and neither of them are pretending to be asleep. “You okay, kiddo?”

Sam’s big eyes lock on his and they’re absolutely glistening, shimmering pools of hazel and Dean swallows hard, his thumb stroking Sam’s face now - _soft he’s so soft how is he so soft_ \- and his other hand is reaching up to brush Sam’s bangs aside even though he knows they won’t stay, his fingertips just grazing the skin and fighting the impulse to linger.

“I, um,” Sam starts quietly, his voice cracking even on those two little sounds because he’s young, so young still but growing, too. He blinks and Dean swears he can feel Sam pressing his face a little into his hand and it makes his stomach tighten and swoop low with the barely-there pressure of it, makes his heart pound harder in his chest and echo in his ears with all the _right you’re right it’s wrong so messed up both of you too wrong too right so right Sammy_.

Sam’s eyes drop when he finally continues and a sweet, rosy flush spreads across his cheeks. His gaze lingers on Dean’s lips long enough that Dean notices before it drops lower and away, deliberately not looking at his big brother whose insides are busy tying themselves in intricate knots, impossibly tight.

“Couldn’t sleep,” is just above a whisper but Dean hears it like a shout, his entire world narrowed to Sam and Sam alone, fluent in little-brother-speak and knowing there’s more coming in the way Sam’s teeth pull at his bottom lip and his hands flex uselessly at his sides. They look the way Dean feels, struggling, uncertain and strung out. _Oh God, Sam_. Everything about his little brother is an echo, ripples in a small pond that start from the same point and come back together again, amplified and turned around. He can’t believe he didn’t see it before but he sees it now, clear as any reflection. He figures now that he’s given himself permission to see it in himself for what it is, it makes it all too easy to see it in Sam, too. 

“Wanted to be here when you got in,” Sam admits, still looking down and past him, and Dean feels the words like a vice around his heart. He can’t help it that his hands pause where they’re moving on Sam’s face or the way he aches when he sees how Sam’s hands shake as they come up and tentatively circle Dean’s wrists. Sam slides his thumb across the thin skin under Dean’s hands and watches the movement a moment before finally looking back up at his brother. His beautiful face is still pink and warm and Dean’s own is hot too, from the beer and the whiskey and Sam. 

“You… didn’t go out?” Sam’s brows raise a little as he asks, the corner of his mouth doing the same and flashing his dimples barely long enough for Dean to see them before he tucks them away, swallowing hard. Dean smiles at him softly, eyes heavy, because he knows Sam can tell he didn’t, and he guesses Sam has a guess about why, hopeful, heart on his sleeve and in his eyes - _shit how much time have I wasted how long has he looked at me like that_ \- but he’s going to push Dean in his little brother way to make him say it.

Dean shakes his head as his smile widens into a grin he can’t control, his hands still cupping Sam’s face and a look in his eye that tells Sam _go ahead, ask me why_. 

“How come?” He finally breathes out, his eyes on Dean’s and his hands tight around his wrists like Dean is a lifeline. 

Dean hums playfully as if he’s contemplating an answer then lets himself take the small step left between them to put him right in Sam’s space, tilting Sam’s face up to keep their eyes locked. The surprise or the angle, Dean isn’t sure which - maybe both - makes Sam’s spit-worried lips part and Dean suddenly knows it in his bones that he’ll go to Hell a hundred times just to taste them. Dean’s body is just touching his and for a split second he feels a wave of panic as he lets the hard, searing hot length of him press against Sam’s hip and his brother sucks in a breath - _shit did I read this wrong I’m wrong it’s wrong stop can’t stop shit_ \- but then Sam is sighing and melting against him, his easy, complete willingness making Dean’s heart flutter behind his ribs and a matching sigh slip from his lips. 

Dean lets one hand splay across the small of Sam’s back, ease him closer with a gentle, somewhat restrained pressure. Sam’s trembling, Dean can feel it like a little earthquake at his core, but he can also feel his little brother against his thigh and he barely chokes back a moan as he pushes Sam into him. 

It occurs to him he hasn’t really answered the kid’s question, not in so many words. He didn’t know what stuck him in the motel room earlier but he sure as hell knows it now, and while they didn’t occur to him before the words couldn’t be more true. 

“Was waiting for you, Sammy,” Dean says the words against Sam’s face, his own brought down so their noses are brushing and he missed the part where their mouths got so close together but saying the words in that space feels good, and saying them at all feels right. They’re innocent enough but they mean so much more, carry a lot more weight, and Sam is so smart Dean knows he gets it, would’ve known he got it even if the kid hadn’t whimpered and shook all the more against him. 

“Dean,” Sam whines and it sounds like a plea and a question both, hovering in the warm air passing from their lips. Sam’s arms are tucked between them against Dean’s chest and the palms that were pressed flat there are fisting in his brother’s shirt now. It feels like begging and Dean is lightheaded, he’s dizzy and his blood is on fire, and he knows before he even does it that there is no coming back, no recovering from this. There’ll never be anything but this. 

Dean lets his lips brush Sam’s, a tease and a last chance, before he finally presses their mouths together in a kiss that he knows will forever be seared into his skin, etched onto his heart. It’s so easy, gentle for a moment, and it occurs to him that it’s possible Sam hasn’t kissed anyone before - _oh Jesus wrong right so good Sam_ \- but what the kid lacks in technique he makes up for with enthusiasm that absolutely wrecks his big brother. He opens up quick and kisses Dean like he’s dying for it, hungry little sounds in his throat and too wet but Dean feels it like a hammer to his gut, the way Sam _wants_. Dean is just as desperate but tries to be patient and he takes the lead and Sam gets the idea fast, always was a quick study, and Dean can’t keep up with how completely he’s coming apart. 

“ _God_ , Sammy,” he pants against his brother’s mouth, fighting for air, and Sam isn’t stopping, still licking at his bottom lip, tugging it with his teeth and Dean has to groan as he leans his forehead against his brother’s, his hand on Sam’s back keeping him close with a white-knuckled grip in his shirt. “Sorry I kept you waiting, kiddo. You,” he interrupts himself to kiss back at Sam’s swollen lips, but he can’t help asking the question. “... been waiting for me long, Sammy?”

Sam is still kissing him, doesn’t seem like he can make himself stop, as he brokenly answers.

“So long. Feels like… always. Would’ve kept- kept waiting though… would wait for you... forever.”

Dean is done. The moan that works its way out of him turns into something like a growl and his hands are on his brother’s slim hips, gripping him tight and lifting him up like they’re acting on their own accord, too fast for what’s left of his brain to consider anything like _yes no maybe slow down wait_.

Sam gasps as Dean manhandles him off the floor, his hands hard on his ass, and the kid clings to the front of his shirt like the monkey he’s always been as Dean turns them, walks them back to their bed and all but tosses Sam onto the mattress. 

Sam bounces and the bed creaks a little under him, the only sound in the room apart from their quick, panting breaths. Sam scrambles backwards up the bed but it’s nothing like running away. His kid brother is still visibly shaking as he tentatively splays his knees apart, the colour in his cheeks deepening and his eyes dark, his hands digging into the sheets under him as he begs Dean to him with the space between his legs and the tongue that traces his own bottom lip. 

Dean takes in the sight and it’s staggering, stealing his breath and making his head swim. His little brother - _kid just a kid still fuck_ \- is laid out for him like a gift and even though he shakes he moves with such intention, a deadly sure look in his eye like he knows _exactly_ what this is doing to his big brother. Dean groans and palms his dick where it’s obscenely tenting his boxers, the glistening tip of it trying to escape the slit in the front, and his hand is wet with the precome that he’s leaking. 

Sam watches the movement and echos Dean’s sounds with a needy whine that makes Dean’s knees feel weak and his dick twitch against his hand. Sam’s eyes close heavily and he arches his back against the mattress. It makes his t-shirt ride up and the hand-me-down jeans that sit too loosely on his hips fall lower and Dean couldn’t keep from climbing up on the bed if the Devil himself were trying to hold him back. This fucking kid will be the death of them, he knows it. There’s nothing Dean won’t do when Sam asks, especially since he asks so pretty, pink puffy lips parted, panting, flashing him the siren-smooth skin of his stomach and the - _sweet Jesus_ \- wet tip of his cock visible at the waistband of his jeans, offering everything Dean has tried and beautifully failed to withstand wanting.

The mattress dips under his hands and knees as he moves up the bed, between his brother’s legs and hovering over his still so small body. Dean’s body is absolutely buzzing and he knows he should be stopping this, there’s a voice somewhere that maybe once upon a time might’ve reminded him it’s not right, the same one that made him put that distance between lately, but the only voice he hears now is the one that tells him just how fucking right it is, and it grows louder with every broken sound spilling from Sam’s shiny, open mouth. 

Dean hasn’t even gotten his hands or his lips back on his little brother yet but Sam is saying his name over and over, soft and quiet like he maybe doesn’t even realize he’s doing it, pleading for him and Dean’s sure he’s never been harder in all his life. When Dean slides his knee up snug in the vee of Sam’s legs and presses it against Sam’s dick where it’s still trapped and straining inside Dean’s old jeans, Sam keens. His hands fly up off the bed and paw frantically at Dean’s back, pulling them together. Dean gets low, bracing himself with an elbow on either side of Sammy’s thrashing head, and moves his hips deliberately against his kid brother while he bucks up to meet him. Dean takes in every expression on Sam’s face and each one he feels like shocks across his skin, hot, sharp, and utterly addictive. 

He can tell Sam is close, knows it in the way his body shudders against him and he sucks in a breath erratically between moans that Dean wants to be the cause of from this moment on. Dean is nothing short of overwhelmed and he can feel himself get closer to that same edge with each one of those precious sounds, with every not-quite-enough brush of Sam’s body against his cock; the angle is off but Dean is still drunk from the way Sam’s moving under him and he knows it’ll do it. There’s so much more he wants to do, so many places he knows he has to see - touch, taste, memorize - but he knows without a doubt looking at Sam now that he’ll get the chance; they’re both so far gone. 

“Yeah, Sammy, shit. That’s it baby, don’t stop,” Dean encourages Sam as he arches to meet the kid’s thrusts and says the words into his ear, licking at the shell of it before tugging at the lobe gently with his teeth. He can _feel_ Sam shiver and it makes Dean grin into the hollow of Sam’s neck. He’ll never get enough of this.

“ _Dean_ ,” Sam moans and his blunt, bitten nails dig into the skin of Dean’s back. Dean nuzzles into him, panting against his skin, tasting an echo of salt on his tongue and drawing more shivers from his strung-out little brother.

“De-Dean,” he stutters out and it sounds desperate, telling. Dean knows what’s next and God he has to see so he pulls his head back to watch as Sam says it. “I’m gonna- I- _Dean_!” Sam is coming with his big brother’s name long and dragged out in a way Dean’s never heard before but suddenly feels like he needs to hear again and again to keep living. Sam's hips go still, his back arches to keep their bodies tight together in all the right places and his eyes close. Dean can feel the warm wet blooming between them where it’s spilling on Sam’s stomach and then he’s coming, too, the sight, sound, smell of his brother the _just right so right perfect_ push over the edge. 

When Dean can think again he’s got his forehead resting on Sam’s, he’s still panting and he can feel the sweat between them where they’re touching, the sticky mess between them and the still loud, rapid pounding of his heart. Sam is just starting to move under him again, slow and easy as he hums, practically _purring_ , and he tilts his face up to kiss at his brother’s mouth. Dean smiles against his lips and feels when Sam does the same. 

“We’re so gross right now.” Sam says finally, crinkling his nose. It makes Dean laugh and he kisses Sam quick before moving to sit back. 

“Yeah, maybe a bit. Easy fix, though.” Dean is vaguely aware of how he’s beaming when he grins down at Sam and starts to reach for the kid’s wrecked t-shirt. Sam watches him move and lets him lift the stained clothing up and over his head, ruffling his already thoroughly messed up, sweaty hair. Dean uses it to wipe off Sam’s tummy and tosses it over his shoulder before stripping out of his and doing the same. He reaches for the button on Sam’s jeans next and his brother’s eyes go a little wide; his cheeks are still flushed and when he sees how Dean is waiting he nods quickly. Dean’s grinning again as he undoes it, pulls down the zipper, and, grabbing both waistbands, tugs down Sam’s pants and boxers. Sam helps kick them off with legs that are still shaking and when Dean’s ditches them somewhere beyond the bed and looks back at his brother, he’s not sure he’s ever seen anything more perfect. 

They’ve seen each other naked countless times but it’s never been like this. _Me I did this Jesus just look at him and he’s mine oh Christ_. Sam’s dick is already hard again - _still hard? God bless being fourteen_ \- laying against his stomach, still blotchy behind it from when Dean wiped off their come. His brother looks wrecked and still wanting, completely debauched, and Dean’s dick is valiantly starting to show its interest . He sees how Sam’s eyes drop down the length of him to the last piece of clothing between them and Dean obliges the unspoken request by shedding his boxers, too.

They’re both finally naked but the urgency is gone; the line has been crossed, the way set. Dean knows it as surely as the look in Sam’s kaleidoscope eyes, the one that tells him how Sam adores him, needs him, wants him, loves him. It makes him feel like nothing anybody else ever has and somehow he knows never will. He smiles back at Sam and hopes his brother sees all that there, too. 

He crawls back up the bed and settles along side Sam, who curls and tucks in against him like he always has. Dean manages to get the blanket out from under them so that they’re covered and he’s got one arm under Sam’s head and tracing lines on his arm, same as he always does. Nothing is different but nothing is the same either. All Dean knows is that the unpleasant feelings - the guilt, the worry - that have plagued him are long gone and instead he just feels... good. _Whole happy perfect Sam so simple it was always Sam_. 

When he turns to kiss at the top of Sam’s head he feels dangerously close to a chick flick moment. He opens his mouth to say something that is distinctly less like his current internal monologue, but the fingers Sam had drawing circles on his tummy have detoured; Sam’s hand is closing hesitantly around his dick and Dean gasps instead. 

Sam has a more solid grip when he tilts his head up to look at Dean, grinning. 

“Jesus, Sammy,” Dean laughs, trying to not to let his eyes close as his brother starts to stroke him. “Not wasting any time, huh?” 

Sam’s hair tickles where it touches him when he shakes his head. His expression is serious when he speaks again, looking at Dean through the disheveled curtain of his hair. 

“Want all of you,” he whispers and it’s soft but sure. “Want to be just yours.” 

His words make Dean ache; it’s the best he’s ever felt. Sam holds Dean’s gaze, steady, and he didn’t ask a question but he’s waiting for an answer all the same. 

“You have all of me, Sammy. We belong to each other, arrite?” His voice is softer than he meant it to be but it doesn’t matter. This is Sam, his super smart kid brother who knows him maybe better than he knows himself. After all, he's the one saw this coming; he’d been waiting for Dean to catch up. Well, he’s caught up now. And that seems to be the answer that Sam was looking for because his dimples are doing their thing, taking Dean’s breath away, and Dean is happy to let Sam have whatever he wants, indefinitely.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading! Comments and kudos are love ♥


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